


Without a Doubt

by Stargirl4Ever



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Biting, Canon-Compliant References of Violence, Commander Wolffe is Not Nice, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, Hair-pulling, In-Universe Language, M/M, Manhandling, Other, Porn With Plot, Reader is a crybaby, Rough Sex, Star Wars Curses, consensual possessiveness, non-gendered pronouns and terms of endearment, primal play, reader has female sex organs, safe sex, slight degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stargirl4Ever/pseuds/Stargirl4Ever
Summary: You are a skilled volunteer medic of the Grand Army of the Republic Auxiliary, deployed with the Wolfpack squad because they are incapable of keeping on a clone medic due to their, well,personality issues. To keep up with them, you are strong-willed and have a habit of infuriating their gruff commander, Wolffe, who always seems to try to hold you back. After a close call on a relief mission, you and Commander Wolffe can't last a single moment longer with the tension between the two of you, and it culminates into much-needed (and incredibly nuanced) 'disciplinary action.'
Relationships: CC-3636 | Wolffe/Reader, Clone Trooper/Reader, Commander Wolffe/reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 156





	Without a Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a gift for my own wonderful partner and IRL Commander 💖🥺 This story is gender-neutral but the reader has a female body. Also, the sex is R O U G H 😁
> 
> There's some in-universe language that I use to convey things because a lot of our words don't fit in the Star Wars universe, and I hope they aren't too jarring in the fic. Here are the main ones that I thought would require definitions since most of the others are easier to understand:
> 
> 'Biosheath' - Star Wars in-universe language for 'condom.'
> 
> 'Clim'/'Climming' - Short for 'climax', pronounced with a short 'i' and is used in-universe the same way as 'cum'/'cumming' as both an adjective and a noun.
> 
> 'Fek'/'Fekking' - Short for the Huttese curse 'fierfek', and is used the same way as we'd use the words 'fuck'/'fucking' as an adjective and an expletive.
> 
> 'GAR'/'GAR-A' - Abbreviations for 'Grand Army of the Republic' and 'Grand Army of the Republic Auxiliary.'
> 
> 'Kriff'/'Kriffing' - A common curse that means 'fuck'/'fucking' but is not an adjective.

You bit your tongue as you processed your creeping, returning anger. It made you shift restlessly on the empty crate you were sitting on as the rumbling engine of the Low Altitude Assault Transport did little to soothe you. You glanced up, mildly noting the grey-patterned armor designs of the familiar Wolfpack around you, all of them standing compared to your sitting as the squad was returning to the Star Destroyer waiting in the atmosphere. The squad was turning in after the second day of the mercy mission that the 104th Battalion was conducting on Sarka in the wake of a violent liberation from the Separatist occupation. 

But that wasn’t why you were so grim. In the silence of the transport, there was palpable tension and it wasn’t between the tired troopers. Rather, it was between you and their sardonic, cynical, sarcastic, and _kriffing caustic_ commander: _Wolffe_. You bristled with resentment and slowly lifted your head. You glowered into Wolffe’s dark visor where you figured his eyes were, and you decided that you’d try to stand up as the gunship was approaching the Republic attack cruiser in Sarka's orbit. 

The moment you stood again and balanced yourself with your hand on the crates beside you, Wolffe growled at you, “ _Sit. Down._ ” All in his infuriatingly controlled, low voice...

He didn’t seem to care that his brothers-in-arms were looking amongst themselves awkwardly, even through their helmets. You didn’t sit down, you weren’t his pet voorpak or something, and there was no reason for you to sit other than maybe because he thought you needed to rest, but the blaster-bolt graze on the edge of your left hand was probably already in a good healing stage beneath your specially formulated bacta patch. You were a _medic_ , you knew what you needed, and a small graze didn’t require remaining seated. Wolffe just wanted to make you angrier, if that was possible, and besides, the gunship was about to land in the hanger of the Star Destroyer.

When you defiantly refused by staying standing, Wolffe stalked over to you and you barely wavered. Your chin lifted slightly as he approached, his disdain in his every word as he addressed you, “I told you to _sit down,_ Nurse…” 

_Fekk_ ; you hated when he called you that… You weren’t a _‘nurse’,_ you were a Grand Army of the Republic Auxiliary volunteer medic, dispatched to the Wolfpack because they had been unable to keep a clone medic attached to the squad. You knew that the aggressive and abrasive nature of the Wolfpack scared most people away, but not you though; you were stubborn.

You shifted, intimidated by the clone commander but not enough to actually obey him. You quirked your head slightly, an impertinent move, “We’re landing. I need to go debrief and—”

Wolffe cut you off by firmly grasping your shoulder and pushing you back down onto the crate. You jerked your shoulder away from his touch with a scowl. You were mad enough to stay defiant, hinting back to the argument that you’d had with the Commander only a few hours earlier before you had been dismissed from the Sarkan relief site because you ‘needed to cool it.’ You sat straighter, running your thumb over the bacta patch on your hand, “I’m _not_ a civilian, I have duties and I am more than capable of standing, Wolffe.”

The Commander removed his helmet, situating it under his arm. He looked ferocious, his anger icy and readable on the features of his face. He pointed at you, speaking slowly and accusatorily, “ _You_ are _not_ acting like one of us, and you will _never_ be like us. You have no business working with clones,” the gunship landed in the hangar and Wolffe paused to instruct his men, coldness still in his voice, “Trooper squad, get out of here.”

You still kept your gaze firmly fixed on Wolffe’s face, and you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to trace to the scar that you knew must have once split his face open, that had caused him to get extensive surgeries all over that culminated in the replacement of his eye. None of that seemed to detract from the ruggedness of his features, the austerity of his mannerisms and appearance. He bore the quality of a hunter, a leader, of someone you knew on all levels _you shouldn’t be insubordinate with._ But this surpassed military duty; he seemed out to get you despite his...well, his stalwart handsomeness.

You sensed relief in the troopers as they quickly escaped the tense scene between you and Wolffe, and you felt some guilt and embarrassment as you realized that you had subjected them to much awkwardness because of your fighting with their Commander. Wolffe kept himself standing directly in front of you, making it clear that you weren’t getting off the ship with the rest of the men just yet, and you dropped your gaze down under the duress of Wolffe’s intensity. You squirmed slightly, suddenly feeling worried about whatever form of disciplinary action the Commander could take, and you tried to distract yourself by noting the natural patterning of the leather of his regalia skirt thingy...his _kama_ , you recalled. 

The Commander held the authority to expel you from not just the 104th Battalion, but also the GAR Auxiliary, and you didn’t want that at all. Kriff, that could ruin your whole life… You wanted to help in the war effort and the GAR-A helped you fulfill that. You didn’t believe in the Senate's “ethical reasoning” of cloning an army, and you sure didn’t believe in the Republic making them the sole fighters of the war. You had to do _something_ , and you found out you could serve as a volunteer medic for the GAR-A. You felt your cheeks burn as you realized that maybe you should have obeyed Commander Wolffe instead of your strong-willed heart.

Wolffe walked to the open bay doors and your fidgeting with the bacta patch only increased. Wolffe set his helmet down and pressed the button on the control panel to close the doors, leaving you alone with him in the ship and making you grow more nervous for his potential disciplinary decisions by the second. However, when he turned around to face you, a surge of passionate indignation coursed through you again. You were reminded of the sharp verbal tirade he’d enacted against you earlier after you’d been injured in the rubble of the Sarkan cave-dwelling that you had gone into to check for civilian survivors against his behest. To not sweep the dwelling would have been against your interpretation of the Galactic Wartime Medic Protocol, which was supposed to your number one directive.

You shot up from the crate, “Wolffe, I’m not trying to be a clone trooper and you know it.”

Wolffe tilted his head, his voice dripping with an edge of sarcastic condescension, “You’re not even acting like an Auxiliary operative. You can’t even _address_ me as someone should in a military setting. I’d be glad to jog your memory; it’s ‘ _Commander_ Wolffe’...” He gestured his hands to punctuate his mocking quote before looking you over, his brow furrowing, “And I don’t recall permitting you to stand, _Nurse_.” 

Wolffe moved back to you, about to push you back down onto the crate, but you were _fed up_ , from the events of the day to him repeatedly calling you ‘Nurse,’ to all the other times he’d pulled just straight-up mean crap. Even when the other members of the Wolfpack seemed to tolerate your presence in the squad, even _liking_ you maybe, Wolffe always seemed out to undermine your war efforts. You shoved Wolffe back by his chest as he reached for you, making him stumble and grunt slightly as you caught him off-guard.

You spoke freer than ever before with him, “ _You know full well we’re off-duty right now,_ and you’re a _kriffing hypocrite_ , Wolffe.” You scowled, angry tears starting to well in your eyes. You had never wanted to cry in front of him, even in the past, but your anger overrode that instinct and the first of your tears rolled down your cheek.

Your anger dissipated in the favor of _fear_ the very second you saw his expression, and it took only a split-second more before Wolffe lunged at you, grabbing your arm and twisting you around so he could press you over one of the taller crates, holding you down by your field medi-backpack and one of your elbows. He kept his body away from yours as he leaned down to speak roughly, though every word was in an even tone that served as a warning that left no room for argument, “ _You are_ not _permitted to shove me. And I expect you to address me as ‘Commander Wolffe’ regardless of whether we are on-duty or off._ Do you understand?”

The way he had you bent over the crate made you feel things that… You squirmed, irritated by your feelings toward Wolffe and his authoritative tone and his manhandling...He was...You were… It was a lot to process, but you were stubborn and upset and you said nothing to his prompt for confirmation. You tried so hard to keep your expressions in check as you cried silently, unable to stop your tears. You inhaled sharply, your voice wavering slightly, “Why are you so _kriffing_ mean to me?” You turned your head more, meeting his impassive face, and it must have been then that he noticed your crying.

He seemed to exhale in irritation, pressing down on your medi-pack before none-too-gently pulling you back upright so you were face-to-face. His lips parted and it was then that you saw the hint of a blush on his cheeks as though he were overexerted. You were a medic, you could recognize signs of overexertion in a clone and you knew that it was fairly rare, so why would Wolffe’s cheeks be—your eyes widened briefly as you realized that he was _blushing_.

You were shaken back to the reality of the moment quite literally as Wolffe jolted you slightly by the grip he still had on your backpack, making you stumble slightly though he kept you upright. His voice was still gravelly as he first addressed you by your first name for the first time before continuing, aggression in his tone, “I gave you one _simple_ task earlier, and you couldn’t follow that and _you got hurt for it,_ ” Wolffe brought his hand to your injured one, grasping it and making you flinch though it was more in shock than in pain. He didn’t release your hand and instead squeezed it so that it started to hurt slightly, making you hiss with discomfort. Wolffe continued, using your wound as evidence, “You see? You don’t belong on battlefields, you don’t—”

You interrupted, passionate stubbornness in your features as you spoke, “I carry a blaster for a reason, Wolffe, and that broken battle droid was half-dead and—” 

You gasped as Wolffe pulled you close to his body suddenly, pressing you against his armor-plated chest so your faces were only centimeters from each other. His face was twisted into a near snarl, “ _Don’t interrupt me._ ” 

Your expression became one of submission with this warning, and he continued, “Do you get how many of your little close calls like the one today I’ve had to deal with? Every time this happens I… You’re my responsibility and you’re _so_ much harder to manage than a clone; you weren’t created with...with resilience or _replaceability_ in mind. You’re not like me, you’re not like us, and you _have no place in our army. Do you understand?_ ”

You tried to jerk away from his grip, but he was just so much stronger than you, “You’re not fekking _replaceable,_ don’t even say that.” 

Wolffe sighed for a brief moment as he glanced away somewhat dramatically, rolling his eyes and angering you. You fought harder against him to no avail, and you gave up, “The...this stupid war shouldn’t fall on just the clones.” You glanced away, finally trying to hide your crying. You felt it really wasn’t helping your case, and you took a stuttered breath. Wolffe’s hold on you lessened slightly, but you didn’t try to move away this time.

There was a long moment of silence between the two of you, and you felt more aware than ever of the closeness he maintained by keeping you to his chest. He finally broke the silence, his low voice rumbling, “You need to learn to trust your Commander.”

Something about his tone or perhaps what he said, though rough and still authoritative, shot through your core in a way that made your own cheeks burn, but you still had to express your argument. You weren’t giving up because...because he...made you feel...things… You took a breath, your voice softer than before, “I have a Medical Protocol to uphold. I have to check for survivors and—”

“ _Shut it._ Were there survivors in there today?” You noticed Wolffe tilt his head slightly as he questioned you, and you felt trapped because... _you knew he was right_.

You bit your tongue, keeping your gaze away, "No, but I—”

Wolffe cut you off again, his voice back to a growl, " _Answer me properly…"_

There it was again, that cutting, deep feeling that his orders made you feel. The off-duty orders and this time, for the first time that day, you truly obeyed. It was instinctive to say despite its difficulty, and you brought your gaze back to his to whisper what you knew he wanted to hear, " _No, Commander Wolffe._ " You bit your tongue and dropped your gaze.

Wolffe continued, sarcasm creeping back into his voice, "That's right. And that time on Gesolia? Or the Moon of Canasix? _Oh_ , what about when we were on—”

You squirmed again, your face scrunching with embarrassment, "I get it! But I have to follow the—”

Wolffe rolled his eyes as he slowly brought his hand up, holding your jaw firmly, "This. All of this, the...deliberate insubordination, acting like you have to follow Auxiliary protocol when you really just want to sell your innocent over-compassion act; you are such a _fekking brat…"_

His curse made your breath catch in your throat and you wondered if he could feel the spike in your pulse even beneath his gloved fingertips as he held you in place. Your brow furrowed, and you spoke quietly, realizing you were on the precipice of total defeat in this argument, "It's _not_ an _act._ I…I _actually_ care. For the leader of a squad that tends to conduct humanitarian aid missions, _you_ lack compassion altogether. _You_ don't seem to care about anything at all besides...efficiency and _underestimating me and hold-holding me back_." You trembled with the last dregs of your draining conviction.

Wolffe was quiet for a moment longer and you could feel his gaze on your flushed face. You were about to add more to your final argument, but when you felt his thumb surreptitiously wipe at one of your descending tears, it felt like the final piece of an infuriatingly difficult puzzle fell into place and...you lost your fight.

Wolffe made your gaze fixate on his with a gentle squeeze of your jaw and his lips parted as though he was going to speak, but it was clear from the calculating, and serious intensity of his expression that something was preventing him from doing so. Before you could even fully register the new subtle shift of his features into an expression of _hunger_ and _instinct,_ Wolffe surged forward and pressed his lips to yours hard, capturing you in a sudden, devouring, needy kiss that shattered all the doubts that had been infuriating you and lurking at the edges of your consciousness. Every scratch of his unshaven stubble against your skin reminded you of the realness of the situation and how much you _accepted_ it, _wanted_ it...

This was the culmination of whatever instinctive, subconscious game the two of you had been playing from the very first mission you'd embarked on under his command; a game of push and push between the two of you… And you _knew_ he cared about you, just as much as you did actually care about him as his lips pressed against yours.

Wolffe pulled back from you, leaving you panting and shocked-but-not-really, and he brought his lips to your ear. He slipped your medi-backpack off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, " _You are in such fekking desperate need of discipline_ …" 

You shivered at his words, a new heat blooming over every surface of your body. Your cheeks tingled and you squirmed in his grip, squeezing your thighs together as you calculated your next move carefully. You quirked your head as you spoke breathlessly, _almost_ fearlessly, "Am I?... _Wolffe?"_

You yelped as Wolffe released you jaw and swept your feet out from under you with a quick kick, ensuring all of your weight was instantly supported by his hold on you as he swiftly maneuvered you to the durasteel floor and unzipped the high collar of your white GAR-A issued bodysuit, exposing your throat to him. 

"Yeah... _you need it so bad_ ," he spoke fervently, his voice like a growl as he was on you, pinning you down and attacking your neck with rough kisses and sharp nips to your skin that somehow alluded to his name, all of which you allowed him access to by turning your head so he could mark you any way he pleased. It felt so good, so perfect, to finally start to relinquish your stubbornness and frustrations and let him take control of kriffing _everything._ Maybe you did really need it.

You whined, a sudden worry entering your mind that you struggled to verbalize, “The...this ship, not here… We can’t... You’re the commander, I-I'm a…” 

Wolffe paused, lifting his head up enough to look into your eyes, his heterochromatic-like gaze piercing and wanting, and you wished he would release one of your hands so you could trace the angles and scars of his face. There was a brief hint of an almost cruel smile as he grumbled to you, “You said it yourself, _Nurse_ , we’re off-duty…” He dipped his head back down, causing you to gasp as he slowly bit your neck again and making you _almost_ forget the brattiness that rose up in you again.

“Stop calling me that!” You squirmed against him, wanting to push his buttons a little more. He shifted his weight down onto you in response, the pressure of his body on top yours just naturally placating you. The jutting ridges of his armor against your torso and pelvis were... _nice._

Wolffe shifted so that one knee was between your thighs, “ _I’ll call you whatever I want…_ ” You almost argued, but your mind cleared when Wolffe shifted so he could start unsealing the lightweight and flimsy white GAR-A armor from your chest, also removing your pauldrons with the medical red sigil on them. He made a sound, a low rumble in his chest a prelude to his possessive words. “I could call you _mine._ ” 

He slid one hand from your belly up to your sternum to further unzip your bodysuit, exposing more of your skin to him. He dipped his head to your jugular, unable to resist dragging his tongue and teeth along your collarbone. He also brought the gloved hand up to palm your breast over your GAR-A-issued bra, squeezing somewhat harshly in a way that you _liked,_ despite the roughness of his ministrations. He spoke darkly against your feverish skin, “Nobody will come in here, and _nobody_ will tell me that I can’t take you…” He lifted his head once more to look at you, “What do you say to that? To this? _I think you fekking need this as much I do…_ ”

He pulled the fabric of your bra down and took no time in dragging his tongue wetly across your exposed skin, focusing on your nipples, licking and nipping like it was the only item on his agenda. You gasped and squirmed, replying instantly to him, “ _Yes, Commander Wolffe…”_

You felt him smile against your skin, and with a small growl as his only warning, he flipped you over onto your stomach and straddled your thighs to keep you down. You squirmed and gasped as the cold metal of the floor bit your skin, though it began to warm beneath you. Wolffe quickly removed your armor and pulled your bodysuit down your shoulders, trapping your elbows in the fabric and restraining you further. He gripped your hair roughly to expose your neck, the sharpness of his touch tantalizing, and brought his lips and tongue and _teeth_ to the back of your neck, to the side, to your shoulders. Each bite he gave you only furthered your arousal… He seemed unrestrained for once, relying on instinct to do what he felt you needed.

He sank his teeth into you harder than he’d previously done, making you tense and cry out with the combination of the sweet, dull pain and you swore you heard him growl “ _Yes”_ in response, the small sound making you moan with a new rush of delight at the all-encompassing sensations of his marking and _tasting._ It was as though he was claiming everything he could about you, a primal tirade that helped knock down any barriers or reservations or anger that you’d been harboring for him. He shattered them even further as he shifted and eagerly detached the upper section of the bodysuit from the lower half, unsealing the magnatomic gription seams of the pale fabric.

He was in such control, and you couldn’t help the whining little sound that escaped your lips as he made his every intention to have you more than clear, pulling the lower half of your bodysuit down your hips and revealing your underwear. Wolffe sat back, “ _Don’t you fekking move.”_

You happily heeded his warning and felt him shift as you realized that he had undone his belt, the sound of it and the attached kama, blasters, and holsters clattering to the floor heavily. It was followed by the sound of him detaching his white plastoid-alloy codpiece and throwing it aside as well in his haste.

You wiggled your hips slightly in your need, but that was put to a stop almost immediately as Wolffe gripped them tightly enough to mark and pulled you onto your knees with your torso pressed into the floor. Your elbows were still pulled back by the makeshift confines of the skintight upper-portion of your half-removed bodysuit. 

You made an attempt to get comfortable in the new position with your forehead pressed against the floor, but somehow you felt that this was how it was meant to be, every little, sweet torment all part of Wolffe’s design. You inhaled sharply, the sound of your smile in the tone of your voice as you breathlessly risked brattiness, “You call this a... _ah_ ...form of discipline?” Wolffe shifted as you spoke so he was between your legs, pressing himself against your underwear so you could feel _every kriffing thick inch_ of his hard cock against the thin fabric that you realized acted as the only barrier that separated skin from skin. You wanted so badly to _see_ him, but he had you in the perfect position that kept you from doing so.

“ _Fekk…_ ” Wolffe cursed, gripping your hips once more and grinding himself _hard_ against your ass, using his bruising hold on you for leverage. He let you go and folded over you, pressing his armored chest against your back so he could easily slide his hand across your belly and into your underwear, neither of you caring that his hands were still gloved. “You better be fekking _wet_ for me…” He groaned your name deeply as he discovered that you were wet based on the slickness and ease of which his gloved fingertips slid between your folds, the rough pads of his gloves only grazing your clit a few times. It had you trembling and already barely able to contain your moans.

You jolted and tried to find relief as he started rubbing your clit without abandon, rough and direct as he was in all things. You managed to speak in between your struggle to properly breathe, “ _Kriff...Wolffe…”_

Wolffe kept at it, moving his cock against your underwear and pressing his face against your shoulder. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke heavily, “God. _Fekk._ You still can’t follow a single, kriffing, order, huh? You have been such a _fekking_ thorn in my side, angel…”

“Wol-Commander, _Wolffe, please…”_ You were already begging for him, for penetration or release, either would suffice.

Wolffe laughed, a cruel sound that was oh-so-lovely to your ears, “Having to keep track of you every kriffing second we’re on the field… _Fekking..._ Fekking watching your every step and move… Seeing you oblivious to my brothers’ flirting and yet still so _fekking teasing_ to me, with _every. Fekking. Insubordination._ ” You were _close_ , so, so close… He punctuated his words with a few particularly rough thrusts against your ass before continuing, “ _You don’t even deserve to clim.”_

With that, he withdrew his hand from your underwear and sat back. You were left in shock, gasping and needy, and you then realized that you were crying again, from the intensity of your pleasure and near-release and now from his sudden denial… A punishment that you knew you were _definitely_ deserving of. 

You shifted, managing to turn your head just enough to the side to look over your shoulder and see the paleness of his cybernetic eye, and despite its artificiality, you were still able to discern the cold mirth he held. It _pleased_ you to your core. He exhaled sharply, a sound akin to a laugh, and your heart skipped a beat as you watched him discard a bio-sheath wrapper to the floor, a new rush of heat rushing between your legs.

“ _Aww_ ,” he was as sarcastic as ever and you whined, pressing your forehead back to the floor as he continued, “ _Are you crying, baby?_ Do you want to clim? Will this help you remember who your commander is?” He pulled your underwear down, “ _God_ , how’s this for discipline?” 

Your hands curled into tight fists as he aligned himself with your entrance, slicking himself with your wetness and slipping just the head of his cock into you, the smallest of gasps leaving his lips. You splayed your hands, finding your voice in your desperation, “ _Fekk! Please!”_

There was sarcastic, mock-disappointment in his tone, “‘Fekk please’, _what?”_ Wolffe braced himself by placing his hands on the floor on either side of your body, his chest armor again digging into your back.

This time, you needed no further prompting and there wasn’t a single hint of brattiness in your tone as you submitted to his request fully, whining for him. “ _Commander Wolffe...”_

You didn’t restrain yourself, crying out as he thrust into you with enough force to shove your hips forward and down into the floor. He wrapped his arms around your torso securely, lifting you back onto your knees as he started driving his hips into yours relentlessly, enough to hurt and enough to make you see stars. Each slam into you made it hard to keep any semblance of a breathing pattern, your breath escaping your lungs in sharp gasps following prolonged pauses. Wolffe didn’t seem to care, but the press of a kiss to the side of your neck suggested otherwise. Your throat finally remembered how to moan, how to keen under the duress of being fekked to within a millimeter of your life.

The repetitive press into you and the wonderfully satisfying stretch of his cock only deepened the catharsis of the intimacy you were sharing with the commander. He was so, _so_ kriffing right: you had needed this badly. Wolffe fekked you _hard,_ at a pace you knew only a clone trooper with their genetically-engineered stamina and strength could maintain. He fekked into you not just his every pent up frustration and anger, but also his care and worry for you. You could feel and hear his every ragged growl and breath as he took you.

He had told you that you didn’t deserve to clim, but the longer he fekked you, the closer to it you became. Or, at least some kind of release, some kind of catharsis that you knew was linked to every harsh, thrust deep into you... You couldn’t even think straight, all semblance of the human replaced with the needs of the _primal_ self. 

You whispered, whined his name as you began feeling the nearing plunge of an impending orgasm. Wolffe must have sensed or felt it too because in a brief, rare display of kindness, he slipped one hand low and pressed his fingers to your clit. The rocking of your hips with his provided friction enough, and within seconds you were overcome with a shattering orgasm. You trembled and jolted and _screamed_ against him and the floor.

You squirmed as he fekked you through it, quickly sending you into the sharp intensity of overstim even after he removed his fingertips from your clit. Wolffe seemed to relish in your struggling, and you did too, feeling deserving of every aspect of his ‘discipline’. He doubled down in his thrusts, somehow, and you were grateful for the easy access to E-bacta shots that you had as a medic. You knew for _kriffing sure_ that you were going to need one later...unless Wolffe _wanted_ his brothers to see you wincing as you walked to your quarters...

Wolffe kept his ever-the-rougher pace, holding you tighter and tighter, but you felt the slight stutter in his hips that suggested that he was close. He started gasping out sentences, heavy statements that surmounted to desperation. “ _Don’t you_ ever _fekking disobey me again… If you got hurt...If you were taken from me…”_

You could feel yourself growing light-headed in the best way as his embrace restricted your breathing to a further degree, and you gasped sharply as he said your name, the syllables transforming into a vicious growl just as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to draw blood and deep enough to make you cry out in pain. _Cleansing, freeing_ pain, the kind that purged every transgression you knew you’d enacted against him, and him against you.

In the few final moments of his release, Wolffe pressed himself as hard and as deep into you as he could, and then as swiftly as your tryst had begun, all of his movements ceased and his tight hold of your torso loosened considerably. He also released his mouth from your shoulder, a small, hot trickle of what you realized was your blood rolling down your skin like the light beads of sweat elsewhere on your body. You gasped at the sting of Wolffe’s tongue dragging over the bite, swiftly cleaning the blood before it dripped onto your white jumpsuit.

There were a few more moments of heavy stillness and you hiccupped as you caught your breath, alerting you to your again-crying state. Wolffe finally released you and sat back, letting himself slip out of you and leaving you feeling empty. Despite the intensity of the situation, you started laughing lightly through your tears, your shoulders bouncing slightly. As if on repeat, your mind reminded you of how you had really needed this, as though what you had just shared with him had been like a lifesaving medical treatment. 

There was a small sound of worry from Wolffe, a quick exhale from his lips as you felt his fingertips skirt the edges of where he had bitten you, “ _Fekk,_ I didn’t… This was more than I meant to—You’re a medic. Some bacta, E-bacta—”

You cut him off, your voice hoarse, “Commander Wolffe, d-do you _really_ want me to heal it up?” You smiled slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper, “S-Sometimes scars are attractive…” Wolffe stayed still and silent, and you took it upon yourself to attempt to get upright and onto your knees with a few sounds of discomfort at your already apparent soreness. You pulled your underwear up and managed to free one of your arms from your jumpsuit. You looked over your shoulder to see Wolffe quietly fixing his belt and kama back into place, his cheeks still blushing darkly. You glanced down to your shoulder to assess the bite mark.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as Wolffe’s concern had made it out to be, and something about it made your heart leap with a newfound sense of lightness. You brushed your hair back and reached for your backpack, procuring some topical anti-bac ointment, a bandicloth adhesive large enough to cover the bite, and a small medi-trash bag. You took a breath and turned yourself enough to hand him the items and meet his eyes, your voice soft as you addressed him, “Commander, can you help me please?”

Wolffe was still quiet as he moved closer to you once more, doing as you asked. His touches were reverent and light, especially in contrast to the roughness you’d happily endured from him only minutes ago. With the final press of the bandicloth over the bite, you resealed your jumpsuit together and zipped it up. You turned on your hands and knees to look for your discarded armor and you glanced up as Wolffe put the bandicloth wrapper into the trash bag along with the other remnants scattered around, including the biosheath that looked _absolutely full_ of the clone trooper’s release… Your lips parted and you found resolve in yourself to want to seek more of it sometime...

Both you and Wolffe were finally standing again and you stretched a moment before meeting his gaze. His brow was furrowed and his eyes narrowed slightly. He spoke slowly as though warning you not to lie to him, “ _You alright?_ ” You could see the concern in his posture.

You took a small breath and stepped closer to him. For the first time, you decided to show him your affection and you reached down, your gloved hand taking his, “Yes, Commander… I’m alright.” You nodded, wanting to reassure him.

Wolffe took a breath, a brief smirk on his lips, “Well, you look like you’ve been to hell and back, _Nurse…”_

You brought your free hand up to his cheek, gently smoothing the pad of your thumb along his scar, your gaze softly fixated on the sharp, proud features of his face. He closed his eyes briefly, leaning ever so slightly into your touch, and the pain of your injured hand couldn’t be further from your mind now. You whispered suggestively, brattiness sweetly dripping from your words again, “You know I’d go anywhere with you, whether you liked it or not... _Wolffe._ ”

Wolffe _growled_ again, his voice cold as he swiftly freed his hand from yours, capturing your wrist and bringing his free hand to firmly hold your jaw as a sharp inversion of the gentleness you’d just shown him. Despite that, his affection for you felt just as much present. He jerked you toward his chest, tilting his head down toward yours, “ _You’re gonna get me kriffing started again, you little brat…”_

You replied without hesitation, the sound of your breathless smile in your voice, “Oh _, I’m counting on it._ ”


End file.
